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MY HOUSE 

CHIPS THE BUILDEK THEEW AWAY 

BY 

EDWARD A. BRACKETT 

AUTHOB OF "materialized APPARITIONS," "THE WORLD 
WE LIVE IN," ETC. 



" Rales in art are to be departed from rather than 
to be adhered to." — Washington Allston 



BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER 
1904 



Copyright 1904 by E. A. Bhackett 
All rights reserved 



LlIJRAKYof CONGRESS 
Two Copies ReceivtiO 

NOV 7 I9U4 

Oopynofu triiry 

' CLASS Ol XXc. No; 

COPY B. 



PRINTED AT 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

BOSTON, U, 8. A. 



DEDICATION 

TO MY WIFE, MY CHILDREN, TO ALL, PAST AND 

PRESENT, WHO HAVE ENRICHED MY LIFE WITH THEIR 

AFFECTION. THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 



PREFACE 

In 1845 I published a little volume of poems, 
written while engaged in my profession of 
Sculpture. Since then, until the past year or 
two, the struggle for material existence left lit- 
tle time or strength for literary work. 

The main part of this book has been written 
during the past year, the recreation of my 
leisure hours. The poems are what an artist 
might call sketches, containing many lines 
which, in a more serious effort, would have been 
left out. Such pruning would, however, have 
destroyed the spontaneity of feeling under which 
they were written. The reader must, therefore, 
accept or reject them mainly for the ideas or 
sentiments which they imperfectly express. 

They owe their position here to the partial- 
ity of friends who saw, or thought they saw, in 
them something of that individuality that at- 
tracted them to me. 

It is enough for me that they were interested 
and that I have been able to place in their hands 
a reminder of that affection which alone makes 
life desirable. 



CONTENTS 



EARLY POEMS 

Page 

The Group 13 

Lines Suggested on Finishing a Bust of 

Allston 35 

The Water Lily 37 

later poems 

My House 41 

Onward 42 

The Brook 44 

Impromptu 48 

Always Present 50 

Ere Thou Art Old . . . . .54 

Love Knows Its Own .... 56 

7 



Passed Away 


Page 

. 60 


Upward 


. 62 


Eeminiscence 


65 


Springtime 


. 68 


The Wreck 


71 


Stray Thoughts .... 


74 


Listening 


. 78 


To My Friend Charles Hallock . 


80 


Today . . . . 


81 


The Cottage by the Sea . . . , 


83 


The Passing Years 


90 


Who Knows the End 


92 


There Is No Past . . . . 


93 


Fear Not 


94 


Love Eules Supreme . . . . 


95 



Page 

The Last Leaf 99 

The Last Leaf 92 



PSEUDO science 

Pseudo Science 103 

The Voyagers 123 

The Advance 129 

The Retreat 134 

Notes 145 



EARLY POEMS 
1844-5 



THE GEOUP 

A CHRISTMAS BALLAD 



The parlor hall was quaint and old, 
With curious carvings wrought; 

The walls were hung with bas-relief 
Expressive of the artist's thought. 

Above the mantel was a clock, 

And from the pendulum there hung 

An angel with her silver wings. 
That back and forward swung. 
Counting seconds one by one. 

On the oaken sideboard stood 

The artist's silver cup, 
And Isabelle with sparkling wine 

Had filled the goblet up. 
And now, beside the cheerful hearth 

Where gleams the evening fire, 
Half leaning sits the gentle maid 

Beside her aged sire. 



13 



His stately form, erect and tall, 

Owns not the weight of years. 
Though on his high and placid brow 

Are traces of his ho^es and fears ; 
And, like a snow-white veil that floats 

On every breath of air, 
Adown his manly shoulders fall 

His wavy locks of hair. 
His quiet face, whene'er he spoke. 

Was radiant with truth, 
For beauty mingled with old age 

The freshness of his youth. 

In early days, by nature taught 

The love her works impart. 
He had from dreamy musings woke 

To woo the plastic art. 
With wondrous skill, life's varied forms 

Grew fair beneath his hand, 
And he had lived with joy to see 

Their beauty fill the land. 



14 



Yet well he loved domestic life, 

And every Christmas night 
His family were gathered round 

That hearthstone's cheerful light. 
And now appeared a stranger youth 

Who sought the sculptor's art, 
And Isabelle perceived with joy 

The love that filled his heart. 
She begged her father would relate 

The tale that he was wont to tell, 
And all drew round the good old man. 

The aged sire of Isabelle. 

The old man gazed upon the clock. 
Where to and fro the angel swung 

Beneath the picture of the sun 
That o'er a painted ocean hung, 

And with a strange, mysterious calm, 

As one who chants a solemn psalm. 
With upturned face, he thus began : 



15 



" The light came through a Gothic arch 

Above the oaken door ; 
The slanting ray fell on the clay, 

Throwing shadows on the floor, 
The stand was placed below the light. 

The clay was on the stand, 
The plastic clay that lifelike grew 

Beneath the artist's hand. 

" Entranced from morn till dewy eve. 

Spell-bound within that room, 
I shuddered when the coming night 

Threw round its heavy gloom. 
The chained lamp swung to and fro. 

Sliding the shadows on the floor. 
And oft I heard with muffled sound 

The gusty wind twirl at the door. 
Yet still I wrought, with earnest thought; 

Each touch betrayed the skill 
By which I formed from lifeless clay 

A creature of my will. 



16 



^' I backward drew that I might view 

The shaping of the whole, 
And closed mj ejes that I might see 

The image in my soul — 
That soul to simple truth once wed, 

How wild, discordant now ! 
'No lovely vision therein dwelt, 

No calmness on my brow; 
But like a crowd of evil forms 

That one by one depart. 
The rushing pulses upward leapt 

From chambers of my heart. 

'^ Where from the clay the shadow lay 

Beneath the dusky light, 
A something stirred ; a changing shape ; 

It turned, and rose upright. 
So dim the shape, I scarce had turned 

To note what it might be, 
When o'er my frame a chillness came, — 

I trembled fearfully. 



17 



All, well I knew the work to do : 
The form that chained my heart 

In plastic earth must needs have birth ; 
It would not else depart. 

I well remember, in my brain 

There was a burning heat ; 
With heavy bound, within my breast 

My heart convulsive beat. 
A whirling sound was in my ears. 

My head seemed larger grown, 
My eyes were red, though free from tears. 

My hands seemed not my own. 
So changed was everything to me 

Within that dim-lit hall, 
That in my fancy oft I saw 

Strange shadows on the wall. 
A marble Cupid on the shelf, 

A pretty little thing. 
With full round face and roguish eyes 

Half hid beneath its wing, 
Had thrilled my breast with strange delight, 



18 



But now it looked a sprite ! 
A wicked sprite that flapped its wings 
And danced amid the light. 

" The specter changed, its form grew dim 

And slid into the claj, 
The deep red clay that on the stand 

A moulded statue lay. 
The statue moved, and writhed, and turned ; 

It grew to wondrous size ; 
Cheeks lank and thin, with fiendish grin ; 

Fierce gleamed those sculptured eyes. 

" The chisel dropped, my arm dropped down. 

All senseless hung my hand. 
My knees seemed fast together bound, 

I scarce had power to stand. 
That ghastly form convulsed with pain. 

The look of that accursed head. 
As 't were hot rain fell on my brain, — 

I shrank with utter dread. 
As one who dreams a horrid dream. 



19 



Yet hath no power to call, 
I grasped mj throat and tried to scream 
And reeled against the wall. 

'' I^aj, shrink not thus, — no human blood 
This hand hath ever shed ; 
For me no ghost in spectral shroud 
Hath left the quiet dead. 

^^ The blood had curdled in my veins, 

I^igh unto death I lay ; 
That night the fiend had power o'er me 

E^or left me with the day. 
Within my mind there was a blank, 

A dreary dismal cloud. 
Through which no ray of light appeared, 

'Twas round me like a shroud. 
I only knew, at times, a sense 

Of better feeling came. 
And once I thought I heard a voice, 

Sweet voice that breathed my name, 



20 



And dimly saw in clouds of light, 
Her hands upon her breast, — 

An angel form, with drooping eyes. 
That seemed with grief oppressed. 

'' The hour I left that dismal room 

Is still unknown to me. 
I found myself a league away 

Mid rocks that skirt the sea. 
The dew distilled upon my cheek, 

Where, stretched upon the ground, 
I lay beneath a stormy sky. 

The ocean's moaning sound 
Fell heavy on my ear and seemed 

To shake the cliffs around. 

" I rose and staggered to the beach : 
The spray dashed in my face. 

The sand lay stretched along the reach 
Far as the eye could trace. 

A boat was riding near the shore, 
The sail across it flung. 



21 



And safe amid the ocean's roar 
Upon the waves it swung. 

" Scarce knowing what I did, save that 

I fled with trembling fear 
From some strange fiend, all shadow-like, 

Who followed me so near 
That, with hot breath and hissing sound 

He whispered in my ear. 

" I loosed the sail ; the boat moved on 

Before the rushing wind. 
The white foam wreathed the vesseFs prow. 

The eddies whirled behind. 
Low bent the mast as bends a reed 

When tempests sweep the vale ; 
Deep lay the boat and gurgling danced 

The surge upon her rail. 
How swift we clove the yeasty wave ! 

The white loon left her bed 
And rushing, circling, through the air, 

Screamed wildly overhead. 



22 



A thousand spectral eyes gleamed up 

From out the wat'ry track, 
The fierce shark crossed the foam-lit prow 

And turned upon his back. 

" Still on my ear the whisper came, 

Still came that fiendish form 
Chasing the boat as though he were 

A demon of the storm. 
That night the moon, the full round moon, 

Came up from out the sea. 
Awhile upon the ocean's verge 

It fiercely gazed on me. 
It was a fearful sight I know. 

That blood-red moon to see : 
The lurid ray gleamed on the spray. 

And with one mighty voice 
A thousand leaping waves, beneath 

Its light, seemed to rejoice. 

" The wind went down ; the boat kept on 
Drifting upon the sea. 



23 



The dull red moon now brighter shone 

And looked less angrily. 
In the distance, dimly seen, 

Like clouds along the sky, 
A changing host of shadowy forms 

Were fading from the eye ; 
While up the east in robes of light 

The rosy morn drew nigh. 
Still drifting on, the heavy swell 

Bore me onward toward the shore. 
Great God ! it was a pleasant thing 

To reach the land once more. 

" As one recalls a pleasant dream, 

So in my memory 
There dwells a vision of a form, 

A maiden watching me. 
That gentle maid was young and fair, 

A lovely minister ; 
A holy feeling fills my heart 

Whene'er I think of her. 



24 



She sang to me the sweetest lay 

That e'er to lute was sung ; 
The music sank into my heart — 

Oh, never flowed from mortal tongue 
Such heavenly strains of melody 

As through my chamber rung ! 

" She laid her hand upon my brow, 

My fevered brain grew calm ; 
There was a magic in the touch 

Of that gentle maiden's palm. 
Still peering through the deepening gloom, 

I saw that wicked fiend ; 
The gentle maiden stood between, 

As on my couch she leaned. 

" Her dark blue eyes, all tenderly, 

Beneath their fringes shone, 
A diamond cross hung from a chain, 

And diamonds clasped her zone. 
Dear, heavenly maid, no artist's skill 

Thy beauty can define; 



25 



Thou didst look in upon my soul, 
My soul looked in on thine. 

^' She stood between me and the light, 

The first gray tints of dawn ; 
Wide spreading from the cottage door 

Lay stretched a sloping lawn. 
She beckoned me and tremblingly 

I rose. The morning air 
Played with the curls upon her brow, 

Bright curls of golden hair. 

" * Thou who didst watch me through the night, 
Now whither dost thou guide 
My steps along this pleasant vale ? ' 
The maiden thus replied : — 
^ Thou dost behold how, from the light. 
The darkness steals away ; 
Anon, up come the rosy tints, 
The first faint blush of day.' 



26 



" ' I see the light, but in the west 

Black mist the sky hath screened ; 

So standest thou before my face — 
Behind, a shadowy fiend. 

Oh, say ! shall aught of deed or thought 
Make my sad spirit whole ? ' 

" ' Look to the light, emblem of life ; 

'Twill dawn upon thy soul. 
'No virtuous act was ever lost, 

Though all unknown the deed. 
Good angels keep a record where 

^o mortal eye may read. 
Oh, keep thy heart from wicked thoughts 

That haunt the spirit so ; 
They, like our shadows, follow us 

Where'er we choose to go.' 

" Still on we went through sloping vales, 
Beneath the sun's warm beam. 
Until we reached a shady nook 
Beside a winding stream. 



27 



The stream flowed near a pine-clad hill, 

The hill that cast a shade 
Whene'er the sun dipped to the west 

Across that quiet glade. 

" Stretched on a bed of moss I lay ; 

A vine-wove canopy 
Above me hung and while I slept 

An angel looked on me. 
I woke and trembling gazed around : 

Once more I was alone, 
But round my neck and waist were bound 

The diamond cross and zone. 
Above my head a milk-white dove 

Sat on a leafless tree, 
And ere I rose he fluttering came 

And perched upon my knee. 

" The sound of rills, the song of birds 
Fell sweetly on my ear ; 
My heart beat with unbounded love. 
Pure love that knew no fear. 



28 



Oh, happy honr ! 'No wicked fiend 

My feeble steps to trace ! 
There walks an angel by my side, 

He looks me in the face. 

" So shall the love of JSTatnre wake 
The pleasant dreams of youth, 
And by thy side, with gentle look. 
Shall walk the angel Truth. 

" The artist hath an inward power. 

The visions of his mind 
Will never let him rest until 

Some outward shape they find. 
Whate'er his varied groups express. 

In all that he doth mould, 
He sees the reflex of himself 

In plastic beauty told. 
The downward weight of evil thoughts 

Hangs lead-like round his heart. 
But like a bird, the soul upsprings 

Whene'er these thoughts depart. 



29 



" Again I sought that Gothic room^ 

Gazed calmly on the clay, 
The deep red clay, that on the stand 

An evil statne lay. 
There, day by day, all flood-like came 

The light of inward thought. 
And calm above that crouching shape 

An angel form I wrought. 
He bends above the prostrate foe. 

In either hand a chain. 
'No outward power hath touched that fiend, 

Yet doth he writhe in pain. 

" But, yonder is the massive door 
That leadeth to the hall. 
And thou shalt see the Group, that fills 
The alcove in the wall." 

Fair Isabelle, with maiden grace, 

E^ow threads the corridor 
And near her walks the stranger youth ; 

The maiden glides before. 



30 



Her lily hand the taper holds ; 

Behind, the shadows fall 
Like gloomy phantoms of the past 

Upon the damp, cold wall. 

But they have reached the vestibule 

And, tremblingly, old Arthur Gray 
Hath swung the massive door aside. 

And lo, the hall before them lay — 
The sculptor's hall ! Who shall describe 

The beauty of that stately room ? 
Where all seems life, yet silent as 

The speechless tenants of the tomb. 

On either side the open door 
A lovely group of angels stood 

With folded hands and drooping eyes 

Beneath the mellow light that shed 
The dusky shadows on the floor. 

IN^ow breathless pass the visitors 

Beneath the wings above them spread, 

Under the high, o'er-arching dome 



31 



With frescoed stars bedight, 
And by the center cokimn pause. 

Two winged cherubs, arm in arm, 
Upon that marble column stand ; 

Half leaning on a flowery vase 
Each holds a taper in his hand. 

And standing by the graceful plinth, 
An ottoman, inlaid 

With curious carvings, quaint and old. 
Of dusky walnut made. 

" Here rest awhile. Dear Isabelle, 

The harp is at the angels' feet : 
'T would please thy sire if, gently now. 

Thou would' st thy evening hymn repeat. 
She took the harp, the golden harp. 

And never dewy twilight stole 
With holier calm o'er folding flowers 

Than that sw^eet music on the soul. 

O, ye who love not simple art. 
Deem not the old man weak 



32 



If, listening to that Christmas hymn, 
A tear stole down his cheek. 

The trembling harp is laid aside, 

The crimson curtain raised, 
And silently upon that group 

The youthful stranger gazed. 
So much of life, of living truth. 

Appears in every line. 
It wakes a train of dreamy thoughts 

That words may not define. 

Who hath not stood Avhole hours to view 

Some lovely Avork of art 
And felt the A^ery stillness chide 

The beating of his heart ? 
E'o idle talk, no fulsome praise, 

The truly full heart knoAvs, 
But like a deep and hidden stream 

The iuAvard feeling flows. 
We pause, and lingering turn away 

To mingle in the strife 



33 



Of busy trade, the love of gain, 
"And all that man calls life." 

How strange do seem the pent-up streets ! 

How rush the crowds on either side ! 
And forms, familiar to the mind. 

Like shadows o'er the pavement glide. 
Long years may pass, yet back we turn 

As to some dream of youth 
And feel, for once, our hearts have been 

In unison with Truth. 



Note. — This ballad was written soon after 
completing a life-size group* of the "Archangel 
chaining Satan/' and was intended to express 
something of that obsession which every artist or 
actor feels while absorbed in his work. 

It was subsequently read, by request, at the 
anniversary of the Eurosophian Adelphi of Water- 
ville College, August 12, 1845. 

* As no one wanted the Devil chained, the group was broken up. 



34 



LINES SUGGESTED OIST EINISHmG 
A BUST OF ALLSTON 



Upward unto the living light 

Intensely thou dost gaze, 
As if thy very soul would seek 

In that far distant maze 
Communion with those heavenly forms 

That, lifting to the sight 
Their golden wings and snoAvy robes, 

Float on a sea of light. 

Anon, far, far away they glide. 

Shooting through realms of bliss. 
Till from the spirit's eye they fade 

In Heaven's o^vn bright abyss. 
Such are the visions thou dost wake ; 

Such are the thoughts that rise 
In him who, 'neath thy upturned broAV, 

Beholds thy searching eyes. 



35 



There is no stain upon that brow 

Where once the glow of life 
With more than earthly beauty shone, — 

Within, no wasting strife. 
How strangely have the swift hours flown, 

As o'er the shapeless pile 
I poured the strength of my full soul. 

Lost to all else the while. 

When fell the last faint stroke which told 

That thou and I should part. 
That all of life that I could give 

Was thine, how throbbed my heart ! 
Yet to this head that I have formed 

Should aught of praise belong, 
'Not unto me the merit due. 

But him w^ho made me strong; 



86 



Who ever lent his fostering care 

My wayward steps to guide 
Through paths of flowers in beauty clothed, 

Along life's sunny tide. 
Thou who wast good and kind and great, 

Thy task on earth is done ; 
Of those who walked in beauty's light. 

Thou wast the chosen one. 



THE WATEK LILY 



How bright upon the rippling tide 
The snow-white lilies bloom ! 

As, swaying there in stately pride. 
They smile above the gloom. 

See, like joyous things of life. 
Their upturned faces glow, 

Eegardless of the water's strife. 
Its dark and sullen flow. 



37 



As pure as snowilakes from the skies, 
The buds, expanding wide. 

Upon the surface gently rise 
And sway above the tide. 

Lo, Nature lifts her fairest flower 
From out the dark steel wave, 

The rainbow shines amid the shower. 
The rose blooms o'er the grave. 

Thus sweetly in the morn of life 
Hope's fairest flow'rets bloom 

Unmindful of the bitter strife 
That shrouds the heart in gloom. 



38 



LATER POEMS 



MY HOUSE 



This moving bouse that you call me 

Is growing old, and I can see 
That it is weak, and here and there 

I find some things beyond repair. 
You err in thinking it is me, 

For I am what you cannot see. 
Within, I tread the well-worn floor, 

Or stand beside my prison door 
That outward swung in days of yore : 

'Tis useless now, it swings no more. 
Without my house, I see nor hear 

Some things that once to me were dear, 
And o'er my roof the chilly flow 

Of winter piles its drifts of snow. 
Yet all within is still aglow 

With earnest life, and everything 
Wears on its face the joy of spring. 



41 



ONWAED 



" Courage ! '^ she said, as with the oar 

She pushed our frail bark from the shore. 

Below, we heard the rush and roar 

Of waves that dashed and flung their spray, 

And drenched with mist the morning air. 

The murky clouds rolled overhead. 
In weird forms they shift and spread. 

And filled us with a nameless dread. 
The doubts and fears that lead astray 

These soulless things are everywhere. 

Who evil thinks shall evil know. 

The poison through his veins will flow. 

To what he feeds on he will grow. 

And his whole life shall writhe and play 

With fancied fraud — his daily fare. 

Unchecked by wind or wave, we steer 
Between these fiends of doubt and fear : 



42 



At our approach they disappear, 

As shrinks the night before the day. 
They are the victims of despair. 

The clouds no longer shift and play 
Beneath the noonday's blinding ray. 

With earnest hope we thread our way — 
Whate'er may call we may not stay : 

Who knows this life must feel its care. 

All things must change. We hear no more 
The angry waters lash the shore ; 

We have no need of sail or oar ; 

The setting sun with lessening ray 

No longer blinds us with its glare. 

Still floats our bark upon the tide, 
The one dear friend still by my side. 

Whatever else may shift or glide. 
Love holds within its gentle sway 

All things for which we hope or care. 



43 



THE BROOK 



From out the clefted rock there springs 
A little brook that laughs and sings ; 

A silver thread that curves and trails 

'Tween mossy banks, through wooded vales. 

And v^here its waters gently flow, 

The cowslip and the lilies grow, 
And 'neath the boulder, from his lair, 

The spotted trout leaps in the air. 

The whirling eddies softly press 
The drooping fern, the water cress ; 

And where the willow sways and swings, 
The wild bird builds her nest and sings. 

I backward turned when I was young ; 

Thoughtlessly I laughed and sung, 
And careless of the passing hours 

I trod thy banks and gathered flowers 



44 



With one who was more dear to me 
Than all things else may ever be. 

'Twas early mora, not eventide ; 

Spring flowers bloomed on either side. 

So wrapped in her, and she in me, 
We did not think, — we did not see 

That it was but the opening day, 

xind like the stream would pass away. 

The budding life so fresh and fair. 
The dreamy eyes undimmed by care. 

The graceful mien, the heaving breast 
That rose and fell with love's unrest. 

And like the water's rippling flow. 
The voice was ever soft and low. 

There is no curve or play of line 

That beauty claims that was not thine. 

As many a one has done before. 

We missed our way, and never more 



45 



Throiig'li all oiir lives tlie rich refrain 
Of our young love came back again. 

What changes come I Who has not seen 
The shifting shadows slide between 

Our cherished hopes, — what w^e were then, 
What we are now, Avhat might have been ? 

'Tis autumn now : the trees are bare, 

A touch of winter in the air, 
And wdiere the willows swayed and swung. 

There are no birds to rear their young. 

Leaves strew the ground, the flowers are dead. 
And over all the scene are spread 

The phantoms of a thousand things : 
Only the brook still laughs and sings. 

O laughing brook, thy song, thy gleam, 
Is like a half-remembered dream. 

In caverns deep beneath the earth. 

Unseen, unknown, thou hadst thy birth. 



46 



I wonder not at thy sweet voice, 

That all unchecked thou dost rejoice ; 

For thine the joy that freedom gains 
In triumph o'er its broken chains. 



47 



IMPHOMPTU 

TO WALTER 



Still we are here. The world may say 

That you and I have had our day — 
The strenuous life, the shifting play 

Of youth, of manhood and decay. 
Still gleams the memory of the days, 

The buoyant days, when we were young, 
And Hope and Fear alternate swung 

The golden light, the dusky shade 
Across the path where then we strayed. 

And later still our growing needs 
Of robust strength that always pleads 

For manly thoughts and noble deeds ; 
The burning noon that never flings 

A shadow over earthly things. 
But ah ! the changes 'twixt now and then, 

When we were boys, — when we were men. 



48 



The sun drops down ; the coming night 

Is but the blinding of our sight, 
And seeing not, through fear and doubt 

We think our lives are fading out. 
With earnest hope we pause and wait. 

We may not say who first shall leave, 
Or who remain to mourn and grieve; 

We only know that love shall live. 
That IS'ature still her web will weave 

Of golden light o'er all we give. 
For what we give, — with others share, — 

Is all we have, is what we are. 
These trembling limbs, this altered gait. 

These battered forms so w^recked and worn, 
Are but the shells Ave have outgrown, — 

A prison house whose bars shall slide. 
The caged bird, freed, with joyous pride 

Shall cleave the air and sing outside. 



49 



ALWAYS PRESENT 



With a look I could not fathom, 
With a light that was divine, 

Tenderly she gazed upon me. 
Laid her pallid face on mine. 

Like the misty dews of evening 
Her great eyes were full of tears, 

Down her cheeks they flowed and trembled 
As she tried to calm my fears. 

^^ Let no sorrow blind thy vision ; 
Only bnt a little time 
When the clouds shall part between us ; 
Through all changes I am thine. 

^^ Let our errors be forgotten ; 

They are weeds that we have sown. 
Stalks on which no flowers blossom. 
Love and Hope are all we own." 



50 



Patiently she waited, lingered, 
Talking with me day by day 

Till the time came for the parting; 
Lovingly she passed away. 

There are times when all our feelings 
Center in the dreary chill ; 

That our friends who have departed 
Leave a void that naught can fill. 

Blindly over all things changing, 
Passing to the great imknown, 

In our ignorance we sorrow. 
O'er the lifeless form we moan. 

With our hopes and aspirations 
Darker thoughts may intervene. 

Still the world is full of beauty 
Plowing from a life unseen. 



51 



Ivianj things are only seeming; 

'Not a sorrow shall remain 
O'er the splendor of our being, 

O'er the life we all can gain. 

'Not the shadows but the sunlight 
Fills us with the perfect day, 

Leads us to the life immortal; 
All things else shall pass away. 

All around us forms are drifting, 
Floating, gliding, always near; 

Though our eyes may never see them 
Still we know that they are here. 

Often in my quiet study, 

When the lamp is burning low. 
There is one who sits beside me, 
Parted from me long ago. 



52 



'Not more certain flows life's current, 
Or the things I touch and see, 

Than the glory of her presence 
With the love she brings to me. 



53 



EEE THOU ART OLD 



The dreams of youth, the cahn of age, 

Are all recorded on life's page 
With the things that first begam 

When this planet rolled and swung 
In its circle round the sun ; 

When the blending atoms whirled 
Building up this changing world, 

Building up this little shell 
Of a house wherein we dwell. 

In the onward SAveep of time. 
Bearing to some unknown clime, 

Is this conscious self of thine. 

'Not more sure the stars shall shine 

Through the vast sidereal plain, 
Than this conscious life of thine 

All its fullness shall retain. 



54 



Be thyself, for none can o^vn 

Or claim the splendor of thy throne. 

The elements may round thee rave, 
Thou canst never be their slave, 

^or aught except what comes to thee 
To make thy individuality. 

Yet in thy life thou dost rehearse 

All that makes the universe. 
The myriad forms through space unrolled, 

In their beauty manifold, 
Shall come to thee ere thou art old. 

Ere the shadows of decay 
Warn thee of the passing day. 



55 



LOVE KIs^OWS ITS OWN 



This craggy penk on which I stand 

Overlooks the far-off wooded land, 
And through the rocky glen below 

I see a mighty river flow: 
With dancing foam and shouts of glee 

It rushes onward to the sea ; 
The boundless sea where all we know 

Is lost beneath its ceaseless flow. 
Forever runs the turbid tide 

That bears along our hopes and fears, 
Our self-conceit, our foolish pride 

That wanes not with the passing years. 
How little of our lives remain ! 

The river ne'er returns again ; 
The rugged rock on which I stand 

Is slowly crumbling into sand ; 
From this lone peak, dim is the trail 

That leads us through the misty vale. 



56 



The river flows, 

The south wind blows, 
Sing high, sing low\ 
Where'er I go 
The swelling bucl, the opening flower, 

All things beneath us or above, 
Bend to thy throne, O Sacred Love. 

From out the groves, early and late. 

Some happy bird calls to his mate. 
But I, — ah me ! all day I sing 

And no one comes. Yet this is spring. 
^'Are all the birds more blest than I ? " 

The voice was like the plaintive cry 
Of some lone spirit floating by. 

While yet the notes were in the air 
She came, I know not whence or where — 

Love takes no heed of time or place, 
It knows its own when face to face. 

There is no thought, howe'er expressed, 
That does not find a place of rest; 



57 



No yearning sonl, whate'er its state, 
That does not somewhere find its mate. 

As turns the lily to the sim 
When morning light around it plays, 

With trembling step and timid gaze 
She turned to me and we were one. 

^' Dear Friend/' I said, " wilt thou abide ? 
Then journey with me, side by side. 

Though rough the road and oft astray. 
As swings yon star above the night, 

So Hope shall lead and Love shall light 
Our steps along the widening way. 

I lay my head upon thy breast 
And feel I am supremely blest. 

I drink the glory of thine eyes, 
I press thy lips, thy hand in mine. 

For thou art mine and I am thine. 
And thus together we shall rise 

Above the turmoil and the strife 
Of changing things miscalled our life. 



58 



No more I stand upon the crest 
Where rolls the river to the sea, 

For I accept the full bequest 
Of that rich life thou givest me ; 

So much to thy great soul I owe. 
Through parting clouds a light is shed 

That weaves a halo round thy head. 
The heavens shall ope and thou shalt see 

The splendor of thy love for me. 

Unseen they come, with muffled tread ; 

I hear their voices whisper low. 
And looking upward, I behold 

In dreams, as Jacob did of old. 
Love's messengers pass to and fro. 



59 



PASSED AWAY 



!N'ow close tlie door, put out the light, 

For I would be alone tonight. 
'Tis fitting I should feel the stress 

Of my great loss, its loneliness. 
If, in my weakness, I have said 

There is no life now he is dead, 
I do recall it, for I know 

That all is life and nought is dead. 
'Tis not his loss but all my own. 

For many years full well I've known 
His manly strength, the gentle tone 

Of his rich life, his kindly deeds. 
His sympathy with all our needs. 

Nor this alone : it was my pride 
That we could journey side by side, 

And in our harmony to find 
The working of his inner mind, 

That conscious self that still survives 
All changes of our earthly lives. 



60 



How blindly flows the flood of grief 

That gives the lie to our belief, 
For these sad things are only seeming, 

In our true life they have no meaning. 
This house, that once had served him well, 

Is only, now, an empty shell; 
The bird is flown, the nest is bare. 

From his new home we still may share. 
Through all our lives, his loving care. 

What we may think, may never be. 
For life is what we feel and see. 

I only know what comes to me ; 
And here, in all its beauty, lay 

The strength, the love, the gentle sway 
Of that great soul that's passed away. 



61 



UPWARD 



Everything with life is teeming, 

Nothing lacking in its meaning; 
Songs of birds that are testing 

Coy mates, while they are nesting. 
Yielding petals droop and close 

Round the stamens of the rose ; 
Eragrant comes the wind that weaves 

Slender branches with the leaves, 
Through the pine trees, whispering, sighing, 

O'er the blossoms that are dying. 

ISTature fills us with surprise. 
Cheats us with her seeming lies. 

Bids us ope our wondering eyes ; 
Shows the sun come up the east. 

Then slowly drop into the west. 
J^ever sun or planet yet 

Ever rose or ever set. 



62 



Only in our inner being 

Lies the fullness of our seeing. 

Like the chime of evening bells 

That in the distance floats and swells, 

There is music everywhere, 
With its rhythm all unbroken, 

Floating, trembling in the air. 

There are many thoughts unspoken. 

Dreamy thoughts, all too tender 
For our coarser words to render. 

Whether it be friend or lover. 
Little do we know each other. 

What thou canst feel and know and see 
Is all there is of life for thee. 

Beyond thy little range of sight 
A million forms glow in the light. 



63 



Slowly come the changing years, 

Mixing up our hopes and fears 
Till, at last, the curtains rise : 

Through the cloud rifts gleam the skies, 
Eichly falls the evening light. 

Silent, blending into night. 
Gentle as a little child 

That on its mother's bosom smiled, 
From this tenement of clay. 

From the conflict and the strife 
Of this mortal prison life. 

Upward thou shalt cleave thy way. 



64 



KEMmiSCENCE 



Softly blows the evening breeze 

O'er waving grass, through leafy trees 
The trembling air that gently weaves 

A music like the murmuring seas 
Where the waters slide and reach 

Up and down the sandy beach. 
Here we walked and talked together, 

But in all our talking, never 
Did we say we loved each other. 

Was it Fancy with its gleaming. 
Mocking, only, with its seeming? 

Was it Love Avith its sweet dreaming 
That led us onward, side by side. 

Thoughtless of all else beside ? 
Love is blind, it never sees. 

You may call it what you please — 
'Twas enough that in our pleasure 

We had found a priceless treasure 
That no other life could measure. 



65 



Lifting up our sense of seeing 
All the glory of our being. 

'Not alone the simple blending 

Of our lives with love unending, 

But a love that richly gives 
A beauty over all that lives. 

With our selfishness denying, 
Heart to heart, with soul replying, 

In the beautiful spring weather 
Hand in hand we walked together, 

And the angels never knew 
Aught of love that was more true. 

Ah, the days when we were young. 

When the buds and flowers SAvung 
With their fragrance everywhere ! 

Feathered songsters chirped and sung. 
With their music filled the air. 

And our lives were free from care. 
Little did we think or know 

Of that never ceasing flow 
That changes all things here below. 



66 



Stalks that bud and bloom today 

On the morrow shall decay. 
Yet today is full of meaning, — 

'No less beautiful its seeming 
Than the one that's passed away. 

'Tis our blindness in not seeing, 
Never thinking, never knowing 

That these changes are the flowing, 
]^ever ceasing, outward flowing 

From another state of being ; 
They can have no other meaning. 

Bound by age yet strong in spirit, 
From the love I still inherit 

From the dear one passed away. 
Conscious of her gentle sway, 

Grow^ing stronger day by day, 
How can I think, how can I say 

From my life she's passed away. 



67 



SPEIISrGTIME 



The early mom with coming light 
In splendor rides above the night. 

The rayless gloom that barred our way 
In ghostly silence steals away, 

And once again our eyes behold 
The beauty of this changing world. 

We bare our foreheads to the breeze. 
We listen to the hum of bees, 

The music of the restless leaves, 

The blending sounds that far and near 

Like murmuring waves break on the ear. 

Ere yet shall come the leafy June, 
The happy birds with love shall tune 

Their throats and soar and sing. 

The bending flowers, in silent prayer. 

Shall breathe their fragrance on the air. 



68 



The rosy mom, the budding life 
Of happy youth, so full and free, 

So careless of all things that be, 
Its airy castles flash and gleam, 

The mirage of a fevered dream — 
Of idle thoughts that float and play 

And shift and drift and pass away. 

All things are thine, O gentle Spring; 

The birds shall build their nests and play, 
The dream of youth shall have its day. 

Its joys, its sorrows, and its pride. 
Only its memory shall abide. 

When youth is gone, how dreamy then 
We backward turn to what has been. 

And wistfully, with weary eyes. 

We scan the heavens, the changing sky. 

And plead for light. There's no reply — 
ISTot here the answering visions rise. 



69 



'Not what we dream or may believe, 

But what we know, shall net and weave 
The fullness of the lives we live. 

Our thoughts and deeds are never sown 
On barren soil, in land unkno\\Ti ; 

Our duties here are all we own ; 
For what we feel and know and see 

Is all there is for you and me. 

The listless mind may fail to find 

The beauty that forever springs 
From out the unseen world and flings 

A glory over all that life can give. 
There is no great, there is no small, 

Love spreads its golden light on all. 
How rich the song that I^ature sings ; 

As perfect in the things that crawl 
As in the man who proudly swings 

His scepter over earthly things. 



70 



THE WRECK 



Stood the captain, firm, erect, 

On the rolling, pitching deck. 
Walked the captain, fore and aft. 

Master of his little craft. 
Trod the deck, with anxious eye 

Looking upward at the sky 
Where the weird clouds were drifting l)y, 

With the wild winds raging free 
Bent the mast, swelled the sail. 

Water foaming o'er the rail, 

Ploughed the vessel through the sea. 

Through the dashing and tlie roar 
Of the waves that lash the shore. 

Where runs the ragged, rocky ledge 
All along the water's edge. 

Dimly shone the beacon light 
Through the darkness of the night. 

'Not all the prayers of all who pray 
Can lift the gloom that round him lay, 



71 



Or change the darkness into day. 
'Not for himself came doubt and fear, 

But for those who, far more dear, 
Helpless in the cabin lay. 

Walked the captain fore and aft, 

No longer master of his craft. 
All the hope, the joy, the pain. 

That he ever felt or knew. 
Hurtled through his fevered brain. 

Over the wearied, helpless crew 
Ripped the sails, like ribbons flew. 

Streaming, snapping in the gale ; 
And above the broken rail. 

Without stays or spar, the mast 
Bent and trembled, and at last. 

Yielding to the angry blast. 
Broke and crashed into the sea. 



72 



O'er the fast retreating storm 

That, like the Arab, stole away, 
Shrinking from the light of day. 

Broke the morning with its calm. 
Eesistless rolled the onward swell 

Of waves that ceaseless rose and fell. 
Within the storm-tossed bay 

Drifted forms, here and there, 
With pallid face and floating hair. 

Mocking life with vacant stare. 
While up the beach, beyond the reach 

Of the restless, foaming tide, 
Where the wreckage had been piled. 

Without pulse, without breath, 
Folded in the arms of death. 

Lay the mother with her child. 
'Not in garb of fashion dressed. 

But in the beauty God expressed 
When he made all mankind 

In the glory of His mind. 



73 



STRAY THOUGHTS 



Many are the thoughts that gain 

Possession of a fevered brain; 
Fleeting as an April day, 

All uncertain is their stay. 
Joyfully the sunlight gleams, 

Sporting o'er our youthful dreams. 
All the world with beauty teems ; 

It is our recklessness that sows 
Thorns that nestle neath the rose. 

Dreary clouds may shift and spread 
Rolling darkly overhead, 

Chilly winds around us blow 
Piling up the drifting snow. 

Changing, comes the leafy June, 
Singing quite another tune: 

With the whispering of the breeze 
Dance the leaves upon the trees; 



74 



Song of birds, the opening flowers, 

Light with love the shadj bowers 
Would that we could always know 

All the beauty and the flow 
Of these things that come and go. 

Be ye thoughtful, be ye wise. 
Check the passions as they rise ; 

Angry thoughts unbidden start. 
Tear the fibers of the heart. 

Backward you may turn and say 
^'All my life was led astray." 

Many things should be forgotten: 

They were fancies ill-begotten, 
Chips the builders threw away. 

Not tomorrow nor today. 
But in the moments as they play. 

Life shall bud and have its sway. 
I^ot today canst thou say 

Thou art the same as yesterday. 



75 



Roll the planets round tlie sun 
But never since tlie world begun 

In the same path have they run. 

Softly flows the rich refrain 

Of the dreams that once have been, 

Figments only of the brain, 
Dreams that never come again. 

Sturdy stands the mountain oak, 

Bares its forehead to the stroke 
Of the gleaming thunder-bolt. 

In the battle and the strife, 
In the onward march of life, 

Firmly meet thy destiny. 
Never canst thou dare to be 

Less brave than yonder tree. 
In the life that here is thine 

Be always on the firing line ; 
ISTever canst thou once decline 

To meet the f oeman face to face — 
E'ever soldier looks behind. 



76 



There are those who think they find 
That, because we change our dress, 

We are old, — are growing less. 
These garments may be sadly worn, 

But day by day more rich unfolds 
The life within their ample folds. 

To those who feel and see aright 

Not less beautiful the night 
That silent waits the coming morn. 

It is folly in our seeing 
Things that really have no meaning 

That ever makes our misery. 
Were we truthful, were we free. 

All the sorrows that might be 
Could be thrown into the sea. 



77 



LISTENING 



In the woods the birds are singing, 
Flitting round from limb to limb, 

And my soul is full of music, 
Hunnine: over at the rim. 



"fc> 



Yet my heart is reaching, yearning. 
For a song I cannot hear. 

Well I know it floats around me 
And at times comes very near. 

Over all the night is falling. 
And the stars are in the sky; 

Summer breezes softly breathing 
Whisper as they pass me by. 

Silently the moon is rising. 
Climbing up the hazy sky, 

And so near it floats above me 
I can reach it where I lie. 



78 



Like a restless bird rejoicing, 
Freely I can cleave the air ; 

Upward rising, onward drifting, 
Leave behind all earthly care. 

For our thoughts and aspirations 
That forever outward spring, — 

Ever present, never ceasing, — 
Make us one with every thing. 

And our joys and sorrows blending 
With our love, we all can see 

Something of the life we're nearing 
That will come to you and me. 

Still my soul is yearning, listening. 
For the song I cannot hear, 

For the ever-flowing music 
Of a life that's always near. 



79 



TO MY FRIEND CHARLES HALLOCK 



If thou hast eyes that thou canst see 

The glory of all things that be, 
The myriad forms that float between 

Thee and the world we call unseen, 
Thou hast the key to that rich life 

That knows not fear, nor doubt, nor strife. 



80 



TODAY 



Life is a battle, and the strife 

Ends only with our earthly life. 
The bugle call is in the air; 

The rush, the conflict, everywhere. 
And none but cowards fail to share 

In all that makes us what we are, — 
The forward march, the onward trend 

Of all things to some certain end. 
In vain we seek to turn aside 

The onward sweep of that great tide 
That bears us to our destiny. 

There is no hope, there is no rest 
For those who fail to do their best; 

Peace only comes to those who see 
That they keep step in harmony 

With all that is or yet may be. 



81 



Why should we wish or care to know 

Why all is changing here helow ; 
Why outward life should ebb and flow, 

Or why our thoughts should shift and sway 
And like our dreams should pass away ? 

We backward turn and lingering yearn 
For that wdiich never can return. 

For, all our life, our sense of being 
Lies in the fullness of our seeing — 

IsFot the fleeting things w^e borrow, 
Or the phantoms of tomorrow. 

But the splendor and the play 
Of that rich life that's here today. 



82 



THE COTTAGE BY THE SEA 



It was long, all, long ago ! 

I cannot tell you why 'twas so 

It might have been that restless feeling 

In our youthful days revealing 
Something of a sense of seeing 

That life should never be alone, 
That hearts are pleading for their own. 

Strolling, in this restless mood. 
Where a low-roofed cottage stood. 

Where the lengthened shadow^s lay, 
Phantoms of the passing day. 

Suddenly, before me stood 

A gentle form of maidenhood. 

Startled like a timid fawn. 

Fled she down the grassy lawn 
To the cottage by the sea. 



83 



I^ever backward did I see 
That she turned to look at me. 

Erom that moment I was changed 
And my vision wider ranged. 

^ever came to me again 

The thoughtless boy that I had been. 
Bolts and bars, nothing known, 

Keep the lover from his own : 
In the golden autumn weather, 

Hand in hand we strolled together. 

What we said, or thought, or did, 
Beneath the veil of love was hid ; 

Sacred as our sense of being 

Are the dreams that love is seeing. 

From within, outward f3.owing, 

Is all the love that's worth the knowinj 

Shadows falling from without 
Poison love with fear and doubt. 



84 



Wake a yearning loneliness 

That no words can e'er express. 

Even she who dwelt with me 
In the cottage by the sea, 

In her heaving, throbbing breast, 
Showed how great was her unrest. 

She was simple in her bearing, 
Little for the fashions caring ; 

You might pass her any day 
And never think or care to say 

That she differed from her race. 
Or was more than commonplace. 

Yet 'ue;ith the fringes of her eyes 
Gleamed the light of southern skies. 

Never love was more intense 
Or richer in its eloquence, 

Than the love that came to me 
From the loved one by the sea. 



85 



Oft we walked hand in hand 
O'er the sea-floor's level sand, 

On its surface traced and planned 
All we thought that there should be 

In the cottage by the sea. 

Here we lived and loved and sung 
When the world to us was young, 

In an age of hope and doubt, 

World within and world without, 

All so closely inter-blended 

None could tell where either ended. 

If we had our little spats 

'Twas not of gowns or flaring hats, 
But from that foolish innate pride 

That brushed, at times, all else aside. 

All our peace lay in not seeing 

Things that we could not 
That the fullness of our love 

In its strength should rise above 
All such false, discordant feeling. 



86 



Like the lightning's heated glare, 
Pulsing through the evening air 

With its changing, fitful gleams, 

Flashed the love-light of our dreams. 

Shifting visions that presage 

The richer life that comes with age. 

Wandering lonely through my hall, 

I see a portrait on the wall 
That in my memory doth recall 

All she was and still might be. 
It w^as a picture that I drew 

In the golden summer time. 
When we both were in our prime 

And I knew that she was mine : 

A velvet cap trimmed with lace 
That half hid her blushing face; 

A rich bodice, open, free. 

That she brought from Italy ; 

The skirt was short below the knee ; 



87 



Raven locks tliat flowed and spread, 
A golden band around her head ; 

Olive tints that glowed with red, 
A rich toned voice that quivering flung 

The accents of her native tongue. 

Eyes that gleamed with love or hate 
But only in their love were great; 

A soul that only knew its mate — 
A soul intensely passionate, 

JvTever stern nor obstinate. 

l^eath the calm of outvrard form. 

Slept the sunlight and the storm. 

What others thought we scarcely knew. 

From year to year w^e nearer grew 
Till we were one ; or, only two 

When some fancied feeling wrought 
A momentary change of thought. 

Open stands the cottage door. 

And the waving sycamore 
Trails its shadows on the floor. 



88 



Through the hall nevermore 
^"^ learns the light that once it bore. 



'vj i.( 



I have wandered far and wide, 

Seen the rushing of life's tide, 
Thought but little, caring less, 

What the world might express. 
l^ever have I been the same, 

Never to my senses came 
Aught that cheered my loneliness. 

Still, in every heart is sown 
A hope that love will find its own 

Somewhere in the great unknown. 

All this happened long ago ; 

I cannot tell you why 'twas so. 
For life is still a mystery. 

I only guess, I do not know 
Why the angels took from me 

All the life there was for me 
In the cottage by the sea. 



89 



THE PASSmG YEARS 



I mourn not o'er the passing years, 

The vanished hopes, the selfish fears. 
Whate'er we fancy there may be 

Of hope, or joy, or misery. 
They are but ripples on life's sea. 

They pass and ne'er return again. 
Alike to me the chaff and grain ; 

They grew together and must fill 
Their measured lot of good or ill. 

Enough to feel and always know 
That all things in their outward flow 

Are rich with love, — that nothing's low 
Unless we choose to make it so. 

Or in our blindness fail to trace 
That naught is poor or commonplace. 

The earth, the air, the changing skies, 
The clouds, the sunshine and the rain. 



90 



The countless forms tliat round iis rise, 

Are voiceless to an idle brain, — 
Within ourselves the splendor lies. 

Dull is the soul that cannot see 
The beauty and the mystery 

Of all that is or yet may be. 
All forms may change, and yet change not 

The tenor of our inward thought; 
While that remains, whate'er may seem, 

What we may think, or know, or dream. 
Can never change our destiny. 

God rules supreme through all the spheres. 

Whate'er may come we still retain 
Our joy, our sorrow, and our pain. 

Beneath the sunlight and the rain. 
The chaff shall mingle with the grain. 

And all our hopes and joys and fears 
Shall blossom in the coming years. 



91 



WHO KE-QWS THE EITD 



From out the unseen world there springs, 
In wondrous beauty, all living things — 

A countless host, whose onward trend 

Is through all time. Who knows the end ? 

Who comprehends the mighty force 

That swung the planets on their course, 

And through the realms of endless space 
Still guides and holds them in their place ? 

Who knows the time they first begun 
Their ceaseless journey round the sun. 

Or aught of that sidereal sweep 

That bears them through the boundless deep ? 

Still swells the tide, within, without. 

Whether we fear, or hope or doubt, 
Resistless rolls the mighty flow 

Of life. The end, — ah, who can know ? 



92 



THERE IS 'NO PAST 



There is no past. The future lies 
A blinding mist before our eyes. 

No footprints mark the unseen trail 
That leads us down the shadowy vale. 

Still on we press. With hopes and fears 
We watch the coming of the years, 

And here and there, thro' rifts between 
Some parting cloud, the light is seen. 



93 



FEAR -NOT 



Fear not tlie gloom, 'tis but a sliroud 
That veils the light, — a passing cloud 

That trails and drifts and drops its rain ; 
The parched earth drinks and laughs again. 

What is for thee, accept, retain, 

'Tis thine, — for thee all else is vain. 

Think not that when the waning light 
Of evening fades and blinds thy sight 

That all is wrong, or aught impure ; 
The white light, only, shall endure. 

Look to thyself. What thou canst see 
Is what thou art, — a part of thee. 

All fraud, all wrong that we call sin. 
Or think so, springs from within. 

Our acts are past beyond recall ; 
Love throws its mantle over all. 

Our seeming sins, our faults, are due 
To baffled thoughts, — the spirit's force 

Deflected in its outward course. 



94 



LOVE EXILES SUPHEME 



In all that makes a healthy life 

There is no pomp or jealous strife. 
Love rules supreme and self-conceit 

Is crushed like weeds beneath the feet. 
We grope about and aimless move 

Until our hearts are filled with love ; 
Then comes the dawn, the rosy light 

That lifts the shadows of the night, — 
The withered hopes, the ghastly fears 

That journey with our waning years. 
The pathway to the unseen world 

Is full of hope, of joys untold ; 
With love's rich bloom, with fragrant air, 

Unselfish deeds and silent prayer. 
Who seeks to climb some other way 

Will tarry long, will go astray ; 
Eor love alone can point the way. 



95 



WE SLEEP, — WE WAKE 



Our life while here is but a sleep 

Where weird forms around us sweep, 
Unreal as the fitful gleams 

That haunt us in our fevered dreams, 
These ghostly things have swayed and swung 

All life since first the world begun. 
And, shadow-like, where'er we tread 

They fill us with a nameless dread. 

We yearning reach only to find 
That to all else our eyes are blind. 

And yet at times there comes a gleam 
Of something more than idle dream; 

A still small voice, so far away, 

That whispers 'tween the night and day ; 

A gleam of mom with golden ray. 



96 



The unborn child, what can it know 
Of all the restless fear and doubt 

That marks the changing world without ? 

As little do we know or see 
Of what the other life may be. 

We sleep, — we dream, but who can say 

That in this strange dramatic play 
He sees the light or knows the way ? 

Alike the rayless gloom of night. 
The sun's fierce glare that blinds our sight. 

We think, but know not what is right 
And o'er a life not understood. 

In our conceit, our selfish mood. 
We draw the line 'tween bad and good. 

^N'ot for their own, but others' guilt 
The heathens' burning hell was built. 

Satanic thoughts that flowed and run 
O'er all the earth when it was young. 



97 



The dreary song tliat Milton simg, 

Like storm-lit clouds they intervene 
And trail and drift and drop between 

Our visions of the life nnseen. 
Not for the few was Heaven designed 

But for the good of all mankind. 
Through unknown space the world shall sweep 

Regardless of our troubled sleep. 
Deem not the evil thou dost fear 

Can follow thee to yonder sphere. 

As drops the husk that folds the grain, 
We drop our sorrows and our pain, 

And upward we return again 

To that pure life from whence we came. 

We sleep, — we wake, — but nevermore 
Do we return to this vague shore 

To dream the life that once we bore. 



98 



THE LAST LEAP 



Sitting bj my evening fire, 

Cheerful-blazing, open fire, 
While the autumn leaves are falling 

And the mournful winds are calling, 
Wailing o'er the passing year, 

In my memory recalling 
Eriends who once to me were dear. 

Eull of hope and life we started 
In the opening of our day; 

One by one they have departed, 
Eading, drooping by the way. 

Thoughtfully, alone I'm sitting 

With the shadows round me flitting; 
Dusky forms that rise and fall 
Slide along the vacant wall, 

Weird phantoms that retire 

With the waning of the fire. 



99 Lof 



Welcome was the manly strife, 

Building up a stronger life. 
Brave we fought, or stood at bay 

Over things that blocked our way, 
Caring nothing for the play 

Of idle thoughts that round us lay. 
All of life is but expression 

Of the life we call progression 
In its changing outward flow, 

Little of it do we know. 

Why should I grieve o'er the departed. 

O'er the friends who with me started ? 
Conscious of their sense of duty, 

Of the fullness and the beauty 
Of their lives from day to day. 

Without doubts, without fears. 
Trusting to the coming years. 

Brave they fought and passed av/ay. 



100 



Sitting by my evening fire, 
Cheerful-blazing, open fire, 

While the antumn leaves are falling, 
In my mind I am recalling 

All the love that came to me. 
'Not in sadness do I see 

The last leaf trembling on the tree. 



101 



PSEUDO SCIENCE 

The gods have ceased to play their pranlcs. 
But in their place the modern cranks 
Rush in to fill the vacant ranks. 



PSEUDO scie:nce 



PRELUDE 



'^ Everything from a clam." 

—Motto of tlie elder Darwin. 

Science opes her little doors, 

Shows you walking on all fours, 
Pointing out the fancied gain 

Of fooling with a monkey's brain. 
Pound the scientific platter, 

With their microbes and their matter. 
How they grin, how they chatter. 

Like cannibals around their fires, 
They are eating up their sires. 

Science shows you everywhere, 
Prom a microbe to a bear. 

On the plains of Arizona 

There were horses without owner, — 
Little horses that had toes. 



105 



Ill tlie bad lands they have laid 
Ever since the flood was stayed. 

Every savant thinks he knows 
Why it was they lost their toes/ 

And why the bird that chirps and sings 
Was once a crawling, hideous thing. 

With a magnifying glass 
They will prove you've been an ass. 

They err but little if they say 
'Not you, but they, have gone that way. 

Slimy monsters whirl and swish, 

Chase each other for a kiss. 
Divine affection in an oyster. 

Such as angels fain would foster. 
All the potency of our being 

That in our lives we are seeing 
Was in the bivalve long ago : 

Burst his shell, — the overflow 
Made us women, made us men. 

Made us all that we have been. 



106 



On their scientific scroll, 

Running downward through the whole, 
In the microbe there must be 

Everything that comes to thee. 
There is no question now about it ; 

'Not a scientist will doubt it, — 
In a little drop of slime 

Lies the world we call sublime ; 
Lies the promise of a nation ; 

Lies the secret of Creation. 

Comes the scientific scholar. 

With his spacious mouth to swallow 
All this great philosophy. 

When you've played your little role 
In a body without a soul 

They will dump you in a hole. 
And the world shall roll and swing. 

Whether it be fall or spring, 
Always comes the same old thing. 



107 



iN'either man, nor saint, nor devil, 

All their theories can unravel. 
If jou take one for a sample 

You will find that he is ample 
To fully prove his heritage 

Somewhere along on history's page. 
Down the dim, uncertain trail 

You will find he lost his tail, 
ITot through design or force of will. 

But through sliding down a hill. 
Lost his peerage and his steerage ; 

Has been wabbling ever since 
With his lack of common sense. 



SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH 



Of all the things that vex the brain 
And turn and twist and come again, 

There's nothing like the soulless fad 
Of scientific thoughts run mad. 



108 



Tor every science has its share 
Of little men, and here and there 

Like owls they blink and wink and stare, — 
A mushroom growth that taints the air. 

"What wonder then that everywhere, 
In all the colleges and schools. 

There's lots of scientific fools ? 

And this recalls my ancient friend 

Who knew all things from end to end. 
A kinder man you could not find. 

But he was Darwin, soul and mind. 
He could not see how 'twas we grew 

From microbes up, yet well he knew. 
Through evolution, it was true. 

And yet at times he had a doubt 
How all these things could come about. 

He turned all theories upside down, 
Like Hodgson, stretched them till they broke,' 

And in the end was sure he found 
Prenatal influence was no joke. 



109 



But Science claims what you indite 
Must be set down in black and white. 

It makes no difference what you tbink, 
All must be welded, link by link, 

Until you bave a perfect cbain 
Of bonest facts tbat will remain. 

Our ancient friend now earnest sougbt 

Some way to prove bis new-found tbougbt. 
He scorned to lend a belping band 

To tbat great borror of tbe land 
Wbere scientists, to gain tbeir facts, 

Must torture guinea pigs and cats. 
He built a room, tbe walls were wbite ; 

He bad no doubt tbat radium plays 
A fertile part in our sun's rays. 

So tbrougb tbe day and tbrougb tbe nigbt 
He lit it witb tbis new-found ligbt. 

And wben all things were 'ranged aright. 
He sought a tenant for his cell. 



110 



He wandered long, a weary time, 

Before lie found from Afric's clime 
A woman who was black as night, 

And straightway placed her in his cell. 
And I have often heard him tell, 

He dressed himself in spotless white; 
'No darkness on her vision fell ; 

He fed her on green food and rice, 
And it is said that once or twice 

He frightened her with his white mice. 

The weeks, the months, went slowly by. 
The winter fled, the spring drew nigh. 

The chilly wind turned fresh and mild ; 
And on one morn she had a child, — 

Strange to say 'twas creamy white. 

No woolly scalp upon its head, — 
The hair was golden, titian red. 

It was a lovely sight to see 
This little waif, this mystery ; 



111 



Its dimpled cheeks, its dreamy eyes, 
As blue as are the summer skies ; 

Its sunny face, its golden hair, — 
A gleam of life undimmed by care ; 

A dreamy sense of loveliness 

That one may feel but not express. 

Now there was hurrying to and fro 

That all the scientists might know 
About this strange prenatal show. 

Of this great crowd that gathered there 
The Psychical Research had its share. 
With looks profound 
They gathered round, 
ISTor made a sound 
Till Dr. Hodgson scratched his head 

And, turning to friend Hyslop, said 
It was a spiritual conception. 
But Hyslop wisely raised the question 
That it was muscular suggestion; 



112 



And Dr. Hudson thonglit 'twas plain 

The action of a dual brain. 
What Savage thought he would not tell 

Until 'twas made respectable.^ 
Shades of the past ! Have we forgot 

The gentle ISTazarene who taught 
The beauty of all living thought, 

And, careless of all scorn and strife, 
For love of truth laid down his life ? 

Can we descend to lower plane, 
And in our self-respect retain 

One word of praise for those who boast 
Their fear of Mrs. Grundy's ghost ? 

From every new-found thought that floats 
They hide behind her petticoats. 

Our ancient friend now did insist, 

He'd found the link that Darwin missed ; 

That evolution could be wrought 
Only through prenatal thought; 



113 



That, if you wished to change a nation, 
It must begin with its gestation. 

I waive the moral of the scene, 

Of what is now, what might have been ; 
'Nor do I wish nor here desire 

To raise the question of its sire. 
Professor Loeb, who knows these things, 

Will tell you how all life begins,^ 
For he is hot upon the trail 

To prove how useless is the male. 

The tale that's told how Eve was made 

While Adam in his slumber laid 
By scientists is counted out. 

For now 'tis known beyond a doubt 
That no one saw the spare rib sprout. 

Her restlessness, her wily tricks 
That got poor Adam in a fix 

Show that the story was a fib; 
Such things require more than one rib. 



lU 



True science heeds not right or wrong ; 

In research, only, is it strong. 
It is enough for them to know 

That all these things may come and go. 
'Not here alone these changes flow, 

For in the sunny South, we know. 
Where virtue waves her loving hand 

O'er all the children of the land, 
Such things can be. 'Tis only fright 

That turns one half the negroes white. 

In vain I warned my ancient friend 

Against this scientific trend. 
He claimed the honor of his birth. 

His Saxon blood, his pride, his worth. 
And scorned the man who fain would say 

These changes came some other way. 

!N'ow, if you don't believe this tale, 

And think these things cannot prevail, 

Just call to mind the little tricks 

That Jacob played with his peeled sticks. 



115 



You cannot, if you would, discredit 

Or doubt his scientific merit, 
His wondrous plan of changing brute and man ; 

For nowhere else on history's pages, 
Among the bosses or the sages. 

Can you find another case where wages 
Have been paid by such a tackle 

As Jacob made with Laban's cattle. 
IsTought is changed from days of yore 

When Jacob, with his subtle lore. 
O'er the teaching and the preaching 

Of that wily sage of yore. 
Fought his scientific battle. 

Fought with Laban for his cattle. 
Winning out the little score 

That his double marriage bore. 

Who use their brains all on one side 

May find the other mystified ; 
And ten to one at such expense 

They lose all claim to common sense. 



116 



And o'er some scientific fad 

In self-conceit they all run mad. 
Pseudo science rides rough-shod 

O'er all our hopes of man or God. 
'No' matter where, 
They all are there, 
The million germs that fill the air, 

And through our life they warp and weave 
A deadly blight in air we breathe, 

And poison all our dreams of bliss 
With thirty microbes in a kiss.* 

Worse than any Spanish blister 

Is the kissing of a sister ; 
!N^ever touch your father or your mother, 

'Never come too ne'ar your lover; 
Ten feet from him take your stand. 

You may drop upon your knees. 
Throw him kisses if you please. 

But never dare you touch his hand f 



117 



There's a million devils greeting 

All such silly sort of meeting. 
But these are nothing to the find 

Of Dr. Hudson's dual mind. 
You nurse your manhood and your pride 

Only to find that side by side 
Sub-conscious self in you resides. 

The dreams of love that once you knew 
Have faded like the morning dew. 

Sub-conscious self in Mary's life 
Refuses now to be your wife, 

And so you have domestic strife, — 
The certain trend, the fruitful source 

That paves the way to all divorce. 

But should you marry both, why, then, 
What can you say of Mormon men ? 

Or if, perchance, you are a lover, 
It's possible you may discover 

That all your love is but a fraction 
Of that great law that sets in action 

The microbes that produce attraction ; 



118 



That your passion buds and swells 
With the building of new cells.® 

She whom you think you are seeing 
May be quite another being; 

Tho' she walk in all her splendor, 
Great full eyes, so deep and tender, 

Stand aside, — she'll not surrender 
While the microbes can defend her 

Like a swarm of bees unseen. 
Circling round their stately queen. 

Are you plucky ? Dare you risk 
All your life on things like this ? 

Cold the hand that turns the page 
Of this scientific age. 

'Nero played when Eome was burning; 

Pseudo science, always scheming 
With a life that's only seeming, 

Scorns and laughs with its upturning 
Of all for which our hearts are yearning. 



119 



Soars the vulture tlirougli the air ; 

In the distance he looks fair, 
But his beak with blood is red 

From his feasting on the dead. 

Icebound, silent, is the river. 

With its chill we tremble, shiver ; 

Still it floweth now as ever, 
rioweth to the boundless sea. 

!None but fools can think it never 
From its bondage can be free, — 

In the sunshine it shall quiver, 
Laughing, reach its destiny. 

Great is science in its learning, 

Searching all things, crawling, squirming; 
All its savants now are turning. 

Turning handsprings o'er each other, 
Over things they may discover. 

Shouting, " All the world's ablaze 
With the little radium rays." 



120 



Sun and stars, thej still may render 
Glory to the day and night, 

But they know that all their splendor 
Must he due to this new light. 

But greater still that lying elf 

That Hudson calls sub-conscious self/ 

If what he says proves to be true 
Then in yourself there dwelleth two : 

How can you tell which one is you ? 

Far away in Life's mid-ocean, 

Where the waves have ceased their motion 
And the stars have lost their light, 

'!N'eath the hopeless gloom of night. 
Where no friendly hand is beckoning. 

Where the pilot's lost his reckoning, 
rreighted with its speculations, — 

Dreary, gloomy speculations, 
That have cursed the life of nations, — 

Drifts this scientific bark. 
Crumbling, rotting, in the dark. 



121 



THE VOYAGERS 

In The Voyagers I have touched lightly on 
one of the most remarkable fads that has ever 
clouded the intellect of man. 

Men of character and extensive culture have 
allowed their imaginations to run riot, resulting 
in elaborate treatises on a subject so simple that 
a child could understand all that is of value in 
it. 

It is its simplicity that has misled them. 



Did tlie grim old boatman Cliaron, 
Ferrying souls across the Styx, 

Dream they would return and swear on 
All these scientific tricks ? 



THE VOYAGERS 



INTRODUCTION 



Armed and spoiling for a fight 
Rides our famed Quixotic knight, 

Ready for all fancied ills, 

Mistaking: mediums for windmills. 



"t> 



Of all the men in history 

Who have braved the E'orthern Sea 
Looking for the Arctic Pole, 

'None could ever fill the role 
Of these men who claim to be 

Members of a great Society :^ 
This mighty, scientific band 

That wrecked their boat upon the sand. 
In their conceit they held the portal 

To the land we call immortal. 



125 



The Secretary kept the key, 

And for the modest little fee 
Of twenty dollars in advance, 

He put the medium in a trance 
That you might see into eternity. 

He would not tell from his subletting 
How much of boodle he was getting,^ 

But made it plain you could get in 
By bribing Peter with the tin. 

Alone he trod the battered deck, 
The sole survivor of the wreck, 

And now as in the days of yore 
He stands again beside the door 

Of that veiled land he would explore. 

To trusty friends he sends a greeting 
That there is one who wants a meeting; 

And if you wish to save your fame 
By masking in another name, 

He'll introduce you as John Smith, 
Or Jones, or any kind of myth. 



126 



And should you fail to understand 
The spirit writing in shorthand, 

He'll read it for you and translate 
All he can get through his pate 

Of this vague hypnotic state. 

With open palms he claims the cash 

If you would share his spiritual hash. 

Like rippling laughter runs the story, 
Euns the great Munchausen story, 

Of the ponderous blows he dealt 
On some fakir medium's pelt. 

A hundred scalps himg from his belt, 
While from his spear aloft he swung 

The Eussian woman's cloven tongue.^ 

He who is hunting for a thief 
Will find the difference so brief 

That each could take the other's place 
And still continue in the race. 

The fraud or ill that he may find 
Is but a refiex of his mind. 



127 



Great is the scientific pull: 

All the anxious seats are full 
And you must wait and take your chance 

If you would join his psychic dance. 
If there are spirits, do they know 

About this strange mesmeric show, 
And are they, as our hero claims, 

The victims of such pseudo names ? 
In his weak uncanny prying 

Into things he is denying. 
Does it pay one, after dying. 

To come back and prove the lying? 



128 



THE ADVANCE 



They came in a strange hypnotic dream 
And paddled their boat up a little stream. 

They paddled by night, they paddled by day, 
Through ghostly frauds that haunted the way, 

Till the pilot refused any longer to guide 
Their mystical boat to the other side. 

Where those called dead are supposed to reside. 

Beached on the sand not far away. 
High and dry their frail boat lay 

With the men, who, all alone. 

Were hunting for the Great Unknown. 

In the years that they were out 

Chasing fraud along the route. 
Once or twice, it has been said. 

They had chatted with the dead. 
]^ot through muscular attraction, 

'Nor through telepathic action. 
But through the pilot's understanding 

Of the thing that she was handling, 



129 



Things the spirit once held dear 

While dwelling on this mundane sphere 

Strange hypnotic seeing 
Of another state of being. 

Then, rushing, came the fake reporters, 

These wonderful truth supporters, 
A hustling, rustling, little band 

That scatters scandal o'er the land, 
Cutting up their frantic capers 

Gathering garbage for the papers. 
You can't wink, nor think, nor say 

A single word, but that next day 
It is printed in the papers. 

Useless are your judges or your courts ; 
If you are charged with any crime. 

With their garbled-up reports, 
Without reason, without rhyme. 

They wdll try you every time. 
And convict you of the crime. 



130 



When this woman, seeking glory, 

Pumped the pilot for her story,* 
And, with great headlines, sold that story, 

Like a rocket in the air 
Burst the scientific scare. 

Blazed the papers through the nation 
With the woman's indiscretion. 

With the silly explanation. 
And the people all ran riot 

O'er the statements of the pilot. 

^ever hound on blood intent 

Was more hot upon the scent. 
Than these hustling, rustling rakers, 

Seeking rubbish for their papers, 
When they struck the dusky trail. 

Leading down the misty vale, 
Of that wondrous psychic band 

That for many years, 'twas said, 
Had been hunting for the dead, 

Found them stranded on the sand. 



131 



Then, witli eagle feathers spread, 

Danced a pow-wow o'er the dead, 
And in the papers, great and small, 

Told the story of their fall. 
When the howling tom-tom ceased 

And thev had smoked the pipe of peace, 
With the pilot off the deck. 

They cared little for the wreck, 
Or whether fraud or self-conceit 

Had paved the way for their retreat. 
But they w^ould give the simple tale 

Of one who followed on their trail. 

Their boat was battered and shattered and worn, 

And never since the world was born. 
On land or on sea was such a crew. 

Doctors and ministers, not a few, 
And one professor who claimed to know 

Something about a dear " wdiite croAV." 
They wandered here, they wandered there, 

And in their blindness and despair 



132 



Some thought they heard George Pelham swear 
That Imperator was not there. ^ 

Confused and dark to them the way. 

What could they do ? They could not stay, 
And some were sure their wornout boat 

With such a crowd could never float. 
From spectacles to slipper shoes/ 

That once they thought were good to use 
To tempt the spirits back to tell 

AVliether they dwelt in heaven or hell, 
Were gathered up and thrown ashore. 

AVith tug and pull and bending oar 
They gain the stream and drift once more. 

One thing remains w^ithin the boat — 
'Twas Hyslop's book. They all agreed 

It Avas so light it could not sink, 
And come what might, if there was need, 

A hundred men could on it float. 
The slimy snake slid through the grass 

And reared his head to see them pass ; 



133 



The croaking frog crept from his den, 

Climbed up the rocks and winked, and then 
He langhed and croaked and winked again. 

THE EETKEAT 



All day they drift adown the tide 

IsTor heed the banks on either side. 
Sad Hyslop sits in the stern and steers ; 

His harlequin mask is wet with tears,"^ 
For they neither see, nor hear, nor know 

What will become of their dear white crow. 
And each unto the other said 

" There is no life where hope is dead." 
What else they thought no one can tell. 

The noiseless paddles rose and fell. 
And like a phantom in a dream 

They drifted down the Lethe stream. 
The lazy wind that all day long 

Had slept beneath the summer sea 
N^ow w^oke to life, and rising strong 



134 



Drove round the boat the swelling tide. 
The restless waves that sobbed and sighed. 

The sim dropped down, the full round moon 

With hazy light climbed up the skj, 
And from the cove the laughing loon 

Eode on the swell and turned aside 
To mock them with her mournful cry. 

The weird darkness round them spread ; 
The bittern from her weedy bed 

Rose on the wing and booming fled. 
All unseen by mortal eye 

Swept the curlew through the sky, 
Piercing the darkness with her cry, 

While the plover's plaintive notes 
O'er the gloomy water floats, 

And like some lonely thing accursed 
The hooting owl called from the glen ; 

The fox came doAvn to quench his thirst 
And rushed in terror to his den : 

'Tis said he ne'er came back a^ain. 



135 



Black were the clouds where set the sun, 

And high the cliffs that overhung 
The sea that rolled and swung, — 

The swollen sea that dashed and sprung 
Upon the rocks that madly flung 

The angry waves that one by one 
Charged up the cliff, then backward run 

With muffled sound like booming gun. 

The ghostly fraud that once was theirs® 

'No longer haunts them with its cares, 
And o'er the prow, with anxious eyes 

They watch the misty clouds that rise ; 
For far away in the outer bay 

Their frail ship lay, and rolled and swung. 
And this the song that Hodgson sung : 

" The piper may pipe, the dancers play. 
The silly folks may go astray, 

For the torch we lit to light the world 
In utter darkness has been hurled. 

And never again, ah ! never more 
Will it light our path to the unknown shore." 



136 



And bending low they all cried, ^' Oh, 
What will become of our dear white crow ! " 

It was a fearful thing to see 

These men who nursed their misery, 
For they with one accord did think. 

As rose the swell, that they would sink. 
Then Hodgson said, with hopeful look, 
^^ Almighty friend, hast thou thy book ? 
If so what care we for this boat ? — 

For come what may we all shall float." 
" But see, my scientific friend. 

These ugly clouds that o'er us bend. 
And like a mountain torrent free 

EoUs and swells the mighty sea. 
Canst thou with thy philosophy. 

With thy strength, thy magic skill. 
Bid these wild waves to be still ? 

Fifty thousand words or more,^° 
Freighted with thy fancied lore. 
Would bridge this sea from shore to shore. 



137 



Let tlie angry waves rejoice 
With the music of thy voice." 

Just then a voice broke loud and clear — 

" Hello, old chap, by Jove I'm here. 
What can I do for this sad crew ? 

Give me the helm and I will steer." 
And all began to think and feel 

That they were safe. Then Hyslop took 
And read a chapter from his book. 

The sinking boat rose on its keel ; 
The listening wind, a moment still, 

'Now angry grew, and loud and shrill. 
With fitful gusts it struck anew 

Their helpless craft that onward flew, 
And 'neath the darkness of the night 

It passed forever out of sight. 
The years have gone, the glint and gleam 

Of sunlight dances on the stream. 
The wireless telegraph 

Has left no record of their path 



138 



And there is little now to show 

Of what took place so long ago. 
Standing on the sheltered lea, 

Looking out upon the sea 
Where the waves are breaking free, 

iN'ot a vestige canst thou see, 
^ot a whisper comes to thee 

Telling where they now may be. 
They may have reached the outer bay 

And in their frail bark sailed away. 
Yet some believe they all were drowned. 

And one old fellow, tramping round. 
Swears that he saw, not far away, 

A strange black crow upon the shore 
Pick up the mask that Hyslop wore 

And, crow-like, bear it to her nest. 
And as each chicken broke its shell 

The forest echoed with the yell 
Of mother crow, who, in delight 

Saw none were black, but all were white ! 
But in her joy she failed to find. 

While none were black, they all were blind. 



139 



Unlike tlie tale the fanner told 

Of that poor man whose stomach rolled 
With four black crows it could not hold, — 

Which in the end proved something dark, 
These new-fledged birds rose like the lark. 

If in their splendor they survive, 
For one white crow there may be five. 

And now these scientists are testing 
All kinds of birds that change in nesting. 

They seek to prove, — a hopeless task, — 
That naught was due to Hy slop's mask. 

They feared, in time, they could not tell 
Which one it was they loved so well. 

If you believe in annihilation. 
Or what is worse, reincarnation, 

It is a goodly thing to know 

That you were once a dear white crow. 

Beloved by ministers and sages 

Who wrote of you a thousand pages. 

And thus your fame swung down the ages. 



140 



The world will turn, the tide will flow, 
The changing seasons come and go, 

But what can Science ever know 
Of the beauty of that love 

Ever flowing from above ? 

J^oah trusted to his dove. 

Had he been fooling with the crow, 
Do yon think, — can you show, — 

That he could have hung his hat 
On the top of Ararat ? 



141 



NOTES 



E'OTES 

PRELUDE 

Note 1, page 106 : 

Every savant thinks he knows 
Why it was they lost their toes. 

The finding of these skeletons led scientists to 
believe that they had discovered the evolution of 
the modern horse. To attain their present form 
they had to drop their toes. 

SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH 

Note 1, page 109 : 

" Like Hodgson, stretched them till they broke.'' 

Dr. Hodgson is reported as saying that he would 
stretch all other theories till they broke before he 
would accept the phenomena of spirit communion. 

Note 2, page 113 : 

" What Savage thought he would not tell 
Until 'twas made respectable." 

" One of the first, and as a preliminary, one of 
the most important results of this Society [for 
Psychical Eesearch], so far, has been to make the 
study respectable." — Minot J. Savage. 



145 



Note S, page 114 : 

" Professor Loeb, who knows these things, 
Will tell you how all life begins/^ 

Professor Loeb announces the discovery of the 
propagation or continuation of animal life inde- 
pendent of the male organism, thereby taking the 
question of immaculate conception out of the 
arena of public discussion and placing it in the 
line of scientific facts. 

According to his discovery, we are fast ap- 
proaching an age in which the laws governing the 
relations between the sexes must undergo a radical 
change. 

Note 4, page 117 : 

" Thirty microbes in a kiss." 

A German Scientist has found that there are no 
less than thirty different kinds of microbes in the 
average human mouth. 

Note 5, page 117: 

" Never dare you touch his hand/' 

M. Crouzel, a French chemist, has discovered 
that there are 83,450,900 bacilli in the average 
hand, the shaking of which is a frightful source 
of spreading disease. 



146 



Note 6, page 119 : 

" That your passion buds and swells 
With the building of new cells." 

Scientists have found that cells that build up 
our bodies have their periods of growth and decay. 
That decay of these cells leads to old age and 
death. By injecting into the system blood, or 
serum, from a young and vigorous person, a new 
order of cells is introduced, which supersedes the 
old and prolongs life. By repeating the process, 
life on earth may become continuous. 

This is not a new discovery, only a new applica- 
tion of an old one. Fruit-growers have known 
for centuries that by grafting an old tree with 
young and vigorous scions the life and fertility of 
the tree is prolonged. 

Note 7, page 121 : 

^^ But greater still that lying elf 

That Hudson calls sub-conscious self.'^ 

Thomas Jay Hudson, Ph.D., LL.D., in his book, 
"The Law of Mental Medicine," makes the dis- 
covery of a duplex mental organism — that there 
are two distinct individualities occupying your 
body at the same time, which he calls the objective 
self and subjective self. The latter is governed 
entirely by suggestion and is totally devoid of 
moral responsibility. The atrophy of the objec- 
tive self is the cause of all crime. 



147 



Note 1, page 125 : 

" Members of a great Society." 

^^ It goes without saying that no member is in 
any way bound by the convictions of another. The 
Society then, as such, has no opinions. It has 
accepted no theories, has come to no conclusions.-'^ 
— M. J. Savage. 

If it has no opinions, no conclusions, no re- 
sponsibility, pray what is it? 

Note 2, page 126: 

" He would not tell from his sub-letting 
How much boodle he was getting." 

No sooner did the Secretary get possession of 
the medium than he proceeded to sub-let her to 
outside parties at from ten to twenty dollars a 
seance. 

It is difficult to understand this effort to push 
Mrs. Piper to the front above all other mediums 
except on the theory of ignorance or an attempt 
to place a fictitious value on her services. 

From reports of her seances, there seems to be 
but little in the manifestations beyond the ordi- 
nary mesmeric subject. Her constant demands 
for articles that have been used by deceased per- 
sons and the results obtained therefrom are psycho- 
metric in character and do not necessarily carry 
any proof of returning spirits. 



148 



Note 3, page 127 : 

" The Eussian Woman's cloven tongue.'^ 

According to M. Sage, a French Author, he 
was a terrible enemy to what he thought was 
mediumistic fraud. His masterstroke was in 
going to India for the purpose of exposing 
Madame Blavatsky, the founder of Theosophy. 

jN[ote 4:, page 131 : 

" When this woman, seeking glory. 
Pumped the Pilot for her story " — 

When the woman reporter obtained from Mrs. 
Piper the confession that she had broken with the 
Society, — that she wanted nothing more to do 
with Dr. Hodgson, and that she did not believe that 
spirits expressed themselves through her organism, 
it swept through the country like a tornado. It 
was in vain to point out the fact that this confes- 
sion did not in any way affect the object for which 
the Society was formed. The attack was only an 
excuse for holding up to ridicule the do-nothing 
character of a Society that had promised so much. 

Note 5, page 133 : 

" Some thought they heard George Pelham swear 
That Imperator was not there." 

Two of Mrs. Piper's guides. For the character 
of these supposed controls see Professor Hyslop's 



149 



book, page 300, where Dr. Hodgson is endeavoring 
to arrange a sitting for Professor Hyslop: 

" Pelham. — ' He asked me to speak and ask 
you whether I conld help you out a bit when your 
almighty friend arrives. You may count on me.^ 
H. — '^ By Jove, I am glad to see you back, old 
chap, I can tell you.^ " 

Note 6, page 133 : 

" From spectacles to slipper shoes." 

These and other articles were used by Professor 
Hyslop in his sittings with Mrs. Piper. 

Note 7, page 134 : 

^' His harlequin mask was wet with tears." 

In Professor Hyslop's first seances for investiga- 
tion of Mrs. Piper he used a mask. 

Note 8, page 134: 

" What will become of their dear white crow." 

Mrs. Piper seems to have challenged the highest 
admiration of many of the members of the Society 
for Psychical Eesearch. Mr. Savage called her a 
most wonderful woman, and one of the ex-presi- 
dents, who has never been known to gush over 
women, scientifically expresses his interest in her 
thus : 

" If you wish to upset the law that all crows are 
black, you must not seek to show that no crows 
are ; it is enough if you prove one single crow to be 
white. My own white crow is Mrs. Piper." 



150 



Dr. Hodgson is authority for the statement that 
" Imperator/' one of Mrs. Piper's controls, claimed 
that the indiscriminate experimenting with Mrs. 
Piper s organism should be stopped ; that it was a 
battered and worn machine. 

Note 9, page 136: 

" The ghostly fraud that once was theirs.'^ 

The wholesale charge of fraud, made by mem- 
bers of this Society against Spiritualists and me- 
diums, seems to have been a two-edged sword. It 
is no longer a question as to which has been hit the 
hardest. 

Note 10, page 137 : 

'^ Fifty thousand words or more." 

Professor Hyslop's book contains six hundred 
and forty pages, or about two hundred and sixty 
thousand words, in a vain attempt to explain a 
dozen seances with Mrs. Piper. 

The conclusion which he arrived at after so 
much labor is briefly stated on page 295 of his 
book, " The main object here is not to convince 
the reader that Spiritism is the only hypothesis 
to be entertained, but that it is rational to sup- 
pose it as one of the possible explanations." 

When it is remembered that " outside of pure 
mathematics nothing is impossible," this pro- 
found statement must have greatly impressed all 
scientific investigators. 



151 



NOTE 

For more than fifty years I have been a close 
student of what is known as spirit phenomena, in 
all its phases, and I have yet to find any evidence 
that it is not what it claims to be. 

I am not, however, in sympathy with much that 
passes under that name, nor am I especially at- 
tracted to the work of the American Branch of the 
Society for Psychical Eesearch. 

However honest its members may be, I regard it 
as little more than a respectable humbug. They 
have not sought to establish the truth of the phe- 
nomena, but to prove that it is something else. 

Over the well-known character and undisputed 
honesty of Mrs. Piper they have thrown the in- 
sinuation that what comes through her medium- 
ship may be due to her second personality; what- 
ever that may be. 

If this second personality exists, it must be a 
part of herself, posing in the seance as individuals 
claiming to be spirits returning from another life. 

If they have any scientific evidence to prove the 
existence of this second personality, they should 
have stated the facts and warned the public 
against the fraud. If not, then their own reputa- 
tion and not Mrs. Piper's is at stake. 

Her reputed assertion that she wanted nothing 
more to do with the society, and especially with 
Dr. Hodgson, was the awakening of her better 
sense of womanhood. Her return to the commer- 
cial relations, supposed to command the open door 
between the two worlds, must have been due either 
to avarice or to hypnotic influence. 

152 



